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by lindsey_grissom



Series: Scenes From A Life Together [7]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Post-Wedding, Spoilers for the wedding episode, but written before the next
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 19:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsey_grissom/pseuds/lindsey_grissom
Summary: Post ‘the wedding’: when the day is over, they share their first few moments alone as husband and wife.





	Home

“Well, that was a lovely surprise.” She says as he closes the door behind them. He watches in silence as she pulls the long pin from her hat, the elaborate, looser twists of her hair visible to him for the first time today, glinting redder somehow, than he’s seen it in a long time. The hat and pin she drops on the little table beside the fireplace, her gloves slipping from her hands, soft familiar fingers folding them neatly and laying them against her hat rim. Always so tidy, his wife.

_Wife._

How wonderful that sounds in his mind. He has called her his bride today, has smiled he knows, whenever he has heard _Mrs Carson_ spoken. But someday, for many days, he will introduce her as _‘my wife, Mrs Carson’._

He remains still, back almost pressed to the door to watch her; the vision of her that near glides around their new rooms, dimming lights and pulling curtains.

“I’m glad Mr Branson is back, I don’t mind saying.” She continues, one hand rising up to rub at her cheek. He wonders if she knows, as he does, that it is Mr Branson’s kiss that has branded itself there, despite so many others she has received today. He wonders if she knows that he is happy too, to see the young man and his daughter returned, if only for the joy it has brought both the ladies in his life. “And it’s cheered your Lady Mary right up.”

She stops then, looks about the room, one hand at her waist before heading for the cabinet against the back wall, pulling out matches from the left drawer.

He supposes he should offer to help her, should at the very least cease loitering at the door.

He cannot pull his mind nor his eyes away from her. Not even for a moment to hang his jacket.

Her own hangs loose about her, swinging with each step she takes and he is fascinated by it. By the soft velvet and shining patterns at the hem and sleeves. How it is beautiful, yes, but pales beside her.

She crouches to light the fire, blowing air to get the flames licking and it has been years, surely, since she lit a fire herself but the flames take and she steps back with that ever so pleased smile on her lips at a job well done.

“Well then,” she turns to him and in her absent surprise at the state of him, he realises that she has known how frozen he has been while she worked to bring comfort to their new home, “do you think you might take off your jacket now, Charles?”

There behind the laughter, the teasing in her eyes he can see the nervousness of yesterday. In the flutter of her hands as they reach for a chatelaine that has not been at her waist all day, he sees that she is not so unaffected as she makes out.

A few quiet steps and she holds out her hand to him, bottom lip caught between her teeth until he closes his own fingers around hers.

“There now, how about some tea?”

With her skin against his palm and her smile so close to him, tea is far from his thoughts.

Gone is the man who spoke so freely just hours ago, words and laughter falling from his mouth easier than they have since he left the stage. Today, she made him into a Cheerful Charlie again.

The humour has gone, though his heart still pounds with joy, echoed, reverberated and expanded by her touch and the delicate scent of her. Now he looks at her seriously, his wife.

_His wife._

“Elsie Carson.”

Her gentle smile is blinding. “Yes?”

Her other hand rests against his lapel, fingertips tracing lines against the wool and he closes his own hand around the velvet of her shoulder.

“We don’t have a kettle.”

“No, and I’ve no interest in leaving these rooms for a while.”

His thumb circles, slipping higher with each revolution until he feels her skin there too. The soft wisps of the hair at her nape.

“So no tea?”

She tips as he guides and her face raises up to him, smile still there in the corners, in her eyes.

“No, but perhaps we can think of something else.”

He leans down and watches the closing of her eyes before he shuts his own, lips meeting in the little space left between them, her weight lent carefully on his chest.

“Will you take your jacket off now?” She whispers, when his hands have dropped to hold her waist and she stands up higher on her toes, her voice curling into his ear.

“As my wife requests.” He answers and makes no move to step away, instead bringing his lips back to hers.

The room is not too warm yet, just a few more moments in his jacket won’t harm him.

And perhaps if he waits, she’ll agree to remove her own too.


End file.
